The Christmas Wish
by LaraClover
Summary: Berwald has only one Christmas wish that he's been obsessing over since childhood. Now an adult, his own son has stopped believing in Santa, but Berwald cannot let go of the hope of seeing the man for himself.


Berwald's son didn't believe in Santa Claus anymore. That was to be expected at age twelve, Berwald told himself. What preteen still believes in Santa? It was about time they stopped pretending. The family members who provided them with presents could finally be thanked properly for their gifts, or else the family could play Secret Santa from now on instead of pretending something that all of them knew was a lie. But Berwald couldn't bring himself to put the myth to an end, not because of Peter, but because he himself wanted to keep hoping for a glimpse of Santa.

He _had_ seen Santa once, he kept telling himself. He'd caught a glimpse of red in the fireplace, back when he was still a child. He'd been peering through the bars of the stairs in the middle of the night, where he could just barely see part of the living room through an open door, and that's where he had seen that flicker of red. He knew immediately who it was, but didn't dare come closer out of fear that he'd be caught out of bed and wouldn't get any presents. So he waited in suspense, listening to the footsteps by the Christmas tree, invisible from his spot. And there, on his way back up the chimney, was another glimpse of red robes. Berwald's eyes had been glued to the fireplace the entire time, and once he saw the red again, he forgot to breathe for a second. But this fading glimpse served as a mirage: the tiny piece of Santa only made him want ever more desperately to see the man up close with a direct view of his face.

From that moment onward, Berwald would stay up late every Christmas Eve, waiting for another sight of Santa Claus. But he never showed himself again. Some Christmases he'd failed to keep his eyes open; other times it seemed he'd just missed him. He would lock his eyes on that fireplace through the entire night, and still there would be no sign of Santa Claus until the morning when it appeared he had visited again. Perhaps he didn't come anymore: the presents were really just from Peter's uncles, anyway. Or perhaps there was no such person to begin with and it had all been just a dream.

"You get to bed on time, son," he told little Peter as he tucked him in his boat-patterned blanket. "Santa's coming tonight."

Peter laughed. "Don't be silly, Daddy!"

"Don't let me catch you out of bed," said Berwald sternly as he shut the boy's bedroom door behind him.

There had been several years when Berwald's parents had caught him out of bed. He remembered them dragging him back to his room, while he kicked and squirmed. He had to see Santa! How couldn't his parents understand? He'd give up everything else on his Christmas list for another glimpse of that magical man.

"What happens to the naughty children?" Berwald had asked his parents once. They had been warning him that he wouldn't get any presents from Santa if he was naughty.

"They get coal in their stockings."

"But what if they're _very_ naughty? Too naughty even to get coal?"

"When a child is very, very naughty," his parents had explained, "Santa puts him in his empty present bag and takes him on his sleigh to the North Pole, where he lets all the naughtiest children freeze to death."

Just the sleigh ride through the winds of the night and the sight of Santa's face in full view while placing him inside the bag were worth freezing, thought Berwald.

* * *

It was funny how a whole generation had passed and yet nothing had changed at all. He was still in the same place with the same obsession, as if the winter chill had frozen time. The wind was howling, blowing specks of snow past the windows, but inside, everything was still. Berwald took off his slippers and walked slowly and carefully to his spot on the staircase. He waited.

While an unknown amount of time passed by - it could be minutes, it could be hours - he felt his muscles grow tenser. Anytime now, he whispered inside himself. But time continued passing (or had it really stood still?) and nothing was happening. Shouldn't Santa be here by now? His heart fluttered when he caught a glimpse of red at the side of the fireplace, but it was only the outside lights playing tricks on him. He squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them to stop them from drooping. He felt his back and limbs go numb.

Startled, he jolted back and blinked. Had he fallen asleep? He heard a vague tinkling noise: that must have been what wakened him. His eyes grew wide behind his glasses. Santa's sled! Almost forgetting to breathe, he stared at the fireplace in concentration.

A _foot_ appeared.

Berwald took a deep breath.

As if in slow motion, a figure in red crawled out from the dark square opening. He stood up, and turned to look Berwald straight in the eye.

He was different from in the storybooks, and yet every bit as magical as Berwald had imagined. He had a round tummy and a round, pleasant face with blue eyes and rosy cheeks. He had fluffy blonde bangs, not a white beard, but there was a little white dog on his shoulder that had a similar color and texture to an old man's beard. As if the encounter wasn't overwhelming enough, the man was smiling. Santa was smiling at him. He even waved. And then, he spoke. His voice sounded like the merry chiming of bells.

"Hi there, little boy! What would you like for Christmas?" He must have a habit of calling everyone 'little boy', thought Berwald, but at the same time, he was too awe-struck to reply.

"Don't be shy," said Santa. "If you tell me your greatest wish, I will keep it a secret, if that is what you please. Just between us."

Berwald tried to pull himself together and stop gazing at Santa's heavenly face. He _did_ have a greatest wish, after all, and he was deeply hoping Santa could make it come true.

"Take me with you," said Berwald, the words coming out as a blunt and awkward mumble. "On the sleigh. For a ride through the sky. To the North Pole."

"Eh?!" For one second, Santa's face became flustered. Then after a moment of the two of them facing each other awkwardly, Santa grinned and reached out to take his hand. When he accepted, he was tugged forward so smoothly that it could have been a dream. He led him up the chimney and onto the roof, where the sleigh was waiting, while all its reindeer sniffed at the sky and each other.

Santa didn't stuff him in the present bag. He let him snuggle next to him in the front seat. And when the sleigh lifted them up into the cold night air, never to return, Berwald felt warm and happy inside.

* * *

The next morning, Peter woke up early and rushed down to open presents. He started giddily ripping off the wrapping paper, when he realized something was different.

"Daddy? Daddy where are you?"


End file.
